


Perfect Little Camper

by HappilyUnconventional34



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Cameron Campbell Being an Asshole, Child Abuse, David (Camp Camp) Needs a Hug, David Whump, Dubious Consent, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, no m/a/x/v/i/d!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyUnconventional34/pseuds/HappilyUnconventional34
Summary: The first time it happens, it’s an honest to God accident.It’s a mixture of many things, Cameron discovers when he thinks back, a failing camp, a shrinking bank account, the feds breathing down his neck and a gaggle of shot-nosed brats and whiny teens constantly vying for his attention.So when Davey, all smiles and sunshine and high, squeaky greetings personally seeks him out to offer him a good morning, Cameron doesn’t think. He just acts.---David has always been Campbell's most reliable camper.





	Perfect Little Camper

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe I wrote this whole thing on my phone? Ahhhh. Anyway I just got into Camp Camp and of course I live for the drama and the angst and the whump and David sitting right there, the perfect subject.. How am I expected to resist? 
> 
> This fic is the result of me thinking about Campbell's dark and ruthless side, the obvious trauma and unhealthy devotion David has for Campbell, and the ability David has to endure massive amounts of pain. So have this darkfic.

> The first time it happens, it’s an honest to God accident.

It’s a mixture of many things, Cameron discovers when he thinks back, a failing camp, a shrinking bank account, the feds breathing down his neck and a gaggle of shot-nosed brats and whiny teens constantly vying for his attention.

So when Davey, all smiles and sunshine and high, squeaky greetings personally seeks him out to offer him a good morning, Cameron doesn’t think. He just acts.

His hand is moving before he’s really thinking about it, his vision a haze of rage and anger and pent up emotions.

It’s quick and vicious and by the time the boy hits the ground Cameron’s mind is a whirl of _‘oh shit’_ and _‘we can’t afford_ _this_ _fucking lawsuit’_

He drops down to the ground next to the boy just as hazy green eyes blink back into focus. Cameron frantically looks around for an out. It’s just him and Davey for miles, in this little secluded glade that make Cameron’s thinking spot. No one else had seen. It’ll be easy to twist out a lie. It’s his word against Davey’s. He could force the boy into silence. He’s done it before.

Davey groans as he comes back to awareness, sluggish from his daze. His cheek is already starting to swell, purple bruise forming.

It’d be so easy to grab his little shoulders, and shake him, use the full force of his weight and height to bear over him and force him to say that he fell, that it was an accident. It’d be a loose end, an inconvenience he’d constantly have to look out for even if the kid left camp, but he’s so young and it would be so easy....

But then those green eyes finally focus on him and there’s no anger, no fear or condemnation. No, the only emotion in those wide doe eyes are an honest and expectant confusion as if he didnt really know what happened, as if there’s a different interpretation to a backhand to the cheek.

And the Conman in Cameron immediately claws it’s way to the surface.

“Oh Davey, I’m so sorry, my boy.” He’s spit balling, latching on to that confusion before it has the chance to develop into something else, something troublesome, “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard son, but that wasp was pretty close to your face and I wanted to get it before it stung you, but Good Golly, just look at what I did to your face.” He makes an aborted movement to touch his cheek bleeding so much sincerity he almost fools himself. Davey's eyes drain of their confusion leaving behind so much pure unadulterated awe it takes Cameron aback.

“Wow Mr Campbell, you’re reflexes sure are fast. I didn't even notice a wasp or nothing.”

“Why thank you dear boy. I don’t know how I moved so fast myself but you know how I feel about you campers. Nothing’s impossible when it comes to protecting you kiddos.” He makes an exaggerated show of rubbing his hand against the dirt, disposing of the fabled wasp carcass, high on the knowledge that the boy was buying his spiel hook, line, and sinker. “Now go to Darla and get that cheek seen to before it gets worse, okay Davey.”

“Yes sir” Davey chirps scurrying away on wobbly unsteady legs, an extra spring in his step. All the while Cameron watches him go, torn between amazement that someone could be so dumb and curiosity as to wheather anyone could be that innocent.

There has to be a limit to naivité, but the boy’s eyes had shined bright with innocence and trust and sincerity, because in his simple little mind he honestly seems to think that Cameron knocking his lights out had been to help him.

And it had been so easy.

But just how easy?

That night Davey catches his eyes in the mess hall. He’s having trouble eating, his cheek as swollen as it, was but he still smiles at him brightly, waves at him frantically, his green eyes gleaming in gratitude.

It stirs something dangerous in Campbell’s gut, something stupid and reckless that tells him; he can get away with it again.

And so he tries it again. And again.

Over the weeks that follow, Cameron takes every opportunity he can to _‘help’_ Davey. A sharp cuff to the back of the head to dislodge a _‘spider’._ A hand that grips too tight to prevent a trip. A clip to the chin to ward off another _‘wasp’._

Davey takes it all, with a smile and a gush over how amazing Cameron was, how quick his reflexes were, how much he cared about his campers.

The rush sets in by the fifth incident when an _‘_ _accidental_ _‘_ trip that leads to a sprained ankle results in praise and accolades from Davey for pulling him up and carrying him home.

Stress and anger are now a thing of the past, worked out on Davey’s peachy skin and he’s well and truly hooked before he knows what’s happening.

Even as bruises form and baby teeth fall and hikes are missed due to sprains and cuts, Cameron never lets up and Davey never catches on. In fact, no one does.

Except for Jasper.

It’s a problem, how Jasper’s eyes once filled with the same devotion ( albeit a little tamer) as Davey, now fill with suspension whenever Davey comes back with a bruise or a sprain. It’s an annoyance when he starts to fix himself a little more firmly to Davey’s side. For a few horrible weeks there’s nothing to quell the anger, nothing to relieve the stress as it builds and builds with no outlet.

But then Jasper disappears and there’s no one to stop him.

The resulting release of all his pent up anger, masked as an errant baseball pitch, results in Davey’s first trip to the hospital.

—

There’s an art to choking. This Cameron knows. You wanted to put enough pressure to get the pure satisfaction of watching the fight drain out of the victim but not enough where you actually kill them. It’s a fine line that takes a lot of practice. It’s just Cameron’s luck that he has a willing volunteer.

“Ah, Ah, Ah don’t struggle, Davey. Struggling uses up your air and drains your energy, my boy. How are you going to escape if you don't have energy to fight?”

But it seems panic and instinct wins against obedience and Davey’s tiny fingers continue to pull at Cameron’s hands, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Now Davey,” He soothes the struggling youth, his voice a cruel imitation of a father’s stern reprimand, “You promised me you’d help me test out any idea I had for a Camp and this one is really important and I need to get it right. You wouldn’t want me to implement a self-defense camp without testing out how to properly choke someone, how much pressure is too much and how to gauge my own strength. You want to help me and the Camp succeed don’t you?”

Davey’s eye are wide and tearful and full of remorse. Properly chastised, he lets his tiny fingers fall from Cameron’s.

“Good boy. I wont hurt you. I’m giving you more than enough room to breath so just focuses on shallow breathes okay? Atta boy.”

Davey’s eyelids are fluttering but something bright exploded in his eyes at Cameron’s praise. And Cameron, ever exploitative, latches on to it expertly.

“You’re doing so good Davey.” He cooes, offering the boy just enough of a quirk of the lips for it to be mistaken as a smile. “Such a good little helper. It’s why I trust you the most Davey. You never let me down.”

The boy’s eyes are sparkling in the wake of his praise, even as a hint of red begins to bleed into the irises. He offers him a wheezing smile and fully relaxes in Cameron’s hold, pliant and obedient and oh so stupidly trusting.

Cameron hums and squeezes just a little harder, bares down with a bit more aggression. His eyes bore into Davey’s, a blissful disconnect rising in the wake of the silence. Why, he can almost imagine that it’s that idiotic counselor, Becky’s neck instead of Davey’s.

4 minutes is the limit, the sweet spot between anger management and brain damage. He squeezes just tight enough to completely cut off Davey’s air, but not tight enough to break his neck. It takes 10 seconds before the boy goes completely limp.

The fresh night air tastes delicious after the release of all that pent up anger and Cameron’s mind is quiet and calm. He’d been so ready to crack Becky’s fucking head open right in the middle of the mess hall for almost giving away sensitive information to the police but now he feels light and bouncy and it’s thanks to his perfect little camper.

Davey looks so sweet and peaceful laying on the ground even as his neck begins to redden and swell. He really is a good kid. The best kid he’s every had come to his camp.

Cameron puts Davey to sleep in his bed that night. He’s gentler than he would normally be, tucking the little boy in and even giving him a slight hair ruffle. Every so often, while he’s making calls and cashing in favors he looks back from his desk, eyes soft and fond.

A ring of purple and blue bruises circle the boys neck the next morning, a beautiful display of selfless duty and unwavering devotion.

Cameron gifts the boy a purple bandanna to cover the bruises, masked as a gift for just how good of a helper he’s been. The boy is over the moon, slipping it on without any prompting.

Such a good little camper.

He explains away the harsh scratchiness of Davey’s voice as a particularly bad cold, effortlessly painting himself as the kind and doting authority figure as he carries the boy, still weak, down the stairs of his quarters and walks him to his own tent.

The suspicious look in that bitch of a counselor’s eyes has faded into something shameful and apologetic, her face soft as she watches Cameron re-tuck Davey into his cot from the opening of his tent. There’s a request for forgiveness in those eyes, an admittance that she was wrong, that he was misunderstood just like he always claimed and her silly suspicions of fraud and neglect that lead her to the police were false. Cameron takes it all graciously...on the surface but deep with the recesses of his heart the volcano of rage begins to churn. Davey’s selfless devotion may have soothed his initial anger but it does nothing to quell the maelstrom that simmers beneath his skin. He hadn’t snapped her neck in front of everyone in the mess hall like he initially wanted but a little birdie he had a nice conversation with told him that he’d get his revenge soon.

The next morning, Cameron’s face is tight and flooded with fake remorse as he informs the Campers that poor sweet Becky has gone and quit, too overwhelmed with preparing for her entrance into college to balance working a summer job.

He catches it after his little speech, the slight furrowing of Davey’s brows at the lie. Because it’s obviously a lie, Becky was taking a gap year and Davey, so intuned with everyone’s life, would of course pick up on that.

Cameron thinks nothing of it, the boy doesn’t even remember Becky, at least by the end of the day, not when he’s too high on being an assistant junior counselor until Cameron can find a replacement.

Davey co-runs the Camp with enthusiasm and obedience and Cameron has a vision of the future, of a perfect facade hidden under the bright smiling face of his perfect little camper.

—

Davey’s cries are shrill and loud and addictive in a way that Cameron can’t explain. The way he cries so freely when he’s hurt, screams so loudly when he’s startled is absolutely endearing.

Too many people get less fun when they grow older, too stoic, too jaded and less willing to let themselves cry but Davey, his perfect obedient little camper who he’s lovingly and perfectly trained, well he’d only become more vocal the older he’s got. The sharp shriek of pain as Cameron buries his heel into Davey’s soft unguarded stomach is music to his ears.

The boy falls to his knee in their makeshift ring, tears welling at the corner of his eyes as he descends into hacking coughs.

‘ _Pull back.’_ his mind says but his body thinks differently. The full force of the nervousness from the day’s earlier search warrant scare guides his fist against Davey’s temple fully knocking him to the floor. That dazed gaze Cameron has so fondly familiarized himself with keeps Davey down long enough for Cameron to regain control of his emotions and convinces him that Davey is due for just the smallest bit of kindness. He kneels next to the boy and pulls him upright, leaning him against his shoulder. There, he lets him rest and regain his senses.

“I guess I wasn’t the best partner for MMA Camp testing was I?” Floaty and scratchy and thick with the promise of tears. It’s Cameron’s favorite voice on Davey. He really can’t get enough.

“Doesn’t look like we can okay this camp just yet, kiddo.” Cameron injects just enough indulgent disappointment in his voice to get the ball rolling and like clockwork David’s eyes shimmer. “head to your tent and sleep off that headache and we’ll test out another camp tomorrow. Hopefully we can have a full testing period.”

Guilt and shame pull the tears from Davey’s eyes, to Cameron’s delight. He slinks to his tent, utterly discouraged.

Cameron watches him go before something more unsettling soon occupies the boy’s empty place near his side. Cameron whips around to see the Quartermaster, his single eye not on him but on Davey’s disappearing silhouette.

“Never found much fun in somebody who can’t fight back. Or rather ones that won’t fight back.” The old man leaves without another word. His comment doesn’t sound like an accusation but a condemnation, well, there might just be enough there for that.

—-

Davey turns 18 at the very beginning of his 8th summer and grows from a boy and into a man. But he remains naive and malleable and just as easy to control. A nice contrast to the new counselor Cameron was forced to hire, a twitchy little thing called Gina or whatever.

Cameron feels a little nostalgic as he watches Davey bound over to him, all smiles and grins and sparkly pretty eyes. He drove this year instead of being dropped off and the juxtaposition of watching his unaware parents unknowingly drop him into the lions den to watching him actually return of his own freewill stirs something dark and satisfying deep in the recesses of his gut. 

When should prey become fodder? When they start to become smarter. Davey’s grown stronger but he hasn’t grown smarter.

He’s grown from a weak and fragile little boy to a resilient and sturdy young man, made strong from fresh mountain air, hard work and spontaneous and soundless beatings dealt under the stars. He’s nowhere near as breakable as he was as a child and rather than discourage him it’s leaves Cameron’s back taunt as the dark thrill runs up and down his spine. He’s heard that bones that have already been broken are harder to break. He can’t wait to find out if it’s true... for biology camp testing purposes, of course.

But there’s something else about the boy’s growth that tugs at Cameron’s mind. He can’t put his finger on it until the pre-camp excitement leaves and the boy will finally sit still in one place. And that’s when Cameron notices with a jolt that the boy has grown in all ways that count, soft and firm in all the right places. Cameron watches him prance around the camp with those bright eyes and that wide smile and those ridiculously tight short and feels another stirring in his gut, the urge to take out a very different kind of frustration on the boys soft and supple body.

He starts slow, better to ease the boy in that way, as not to spook him. A lingering touch here, a soft word there. They experiment with ‘Self Defense Camp’ again and Cameron bares down with his entire body rather than just his hands when he chokes him, stretches against the entire length of that tall thin frame and stares into the very depths of those trusting green eyes.

Davey, the simpleton, of course doesn’t pick up on his subtle hints and little nudges, if the ever present twinkle of innocence that remains in those doe like eyes is any indication. Interest gives way to dark amusement and Cameron makes it a game rather than a carefully constructed mission. He spends days seeing just how far he can push Davey until that innocence is corrupted. It’s a different kind of thrill to watch those cheeks flood with color, to watch the war between devotion and confusion when Cameron pushes a bit too hard.

And then Muffintops opens in town and his attention is effectively diverted.

And yet he keeps the option tucked securely in his back pocket, just in case.

——

Davey’s 23, still obedient and dutiful when _**he**_ comes to camp. Cameron’s there when he walks in for Camper initiation.

He’s a dour and sour-faced little thing,dressed in a heavy hoodie with a face that screams disinterest. Standing next to Davey as he does, he looks like an angry little rain cloud, complete with neon green lightening eyes, hovering next to the sun.

Cameron is struck by an annoying sense of foreboding as he looks at this angry little boy, so unlike his young Davey, but that’s to be expected. No one is and ever will be like Davey. And yet there’s something about this camper that Cameron wants as far away from Davey and his camp as physically possible. Something that reeks of a change to the status quo. The kid hasn’t even spoken and Cameron thinks he hates the little shit.

“Mr. Campbell,” Davey is excitement and happiness and adoration rolled up in a sweet little hyper ball, “This is Max. He’s our newest camper. Max, this is Cameron Campbell the founder of this camp. Say hi .”

“Go fuck yourself, you annoying fuck.” The boy spits, flipping Davey off for extra measure.

Well, now Cameron is positive he hates the little shit.

Davey’s face immediately drops, the twinkle in his eyes fading and Cameron feels a twinge of indignation alongside a need to properly educate this rude little shit. That’s not how you handle Davey at all. Not that he’d expect anyone to be able to handle Davey the way he can.

“That’s quite a mouth the kid has there.” He pins Davey with the full weight of his stare. Davey’s twinkle doesn’t so much as fade as it does abruptly disappear, extinguished in the face of Cameron’s deliberate guilt tripping, “I expect you know that’s something you’ll need to address eh Davey?”

“Of course Mr. Campbell. I’ll definitely do something about that potty mouth - ahhhh!” Davey abruptly begins to hop on one foot, hands fanning the spot where Max had just kicked him.

Max snorts. “Good luck dipshit.”

That violent familiar wave of foreboding returns, a dark sense of competition licking at it’s heels. Cameron grips Davey’s elbow to right him, exerting a pressure that’s almost second nature, just enough to bruise the skin and leave it sorer than some dinky little kick ever could. Davey flinches but shoots Cameron a grateful smile even as the beginning of bruises start to form on that peachy skin. It does enough to soothe his ego, that pain filled gaze of gratitude that’s reserved only for him.

‘ _Get on my fucking level brat.’_

“I trust you have everything under control Davey. I’ll see you when I return from my business trip.

“Of course Mr Campbell. Have a wonderful time.”

Cameron leaves with a pep in his step and a tune on his lips, the familiar feel of malleable skin beneath his fingers and adoration filled eyes enough to sustain his good mood for some time.

But even if he boards the plane to Thailand, that nagging sense of foreboding returns, all centered around their newest addition, Max.

He can’t put his finger on it, but Cameron doesn’t like him, doesn’t like his attitude and definitely doesn't like it anywhere around Davey. Doesn’t like that sour attitude anywhere near his perfect little camper.

It drills at his mind until he eventually pushes it away. After all, Max was just one camper. One camper in a long line of campers that his little pet project has ever dealt with, without the smallest kink in his design. After all, Cameron has spent years working Davey into what he was today. There wasn’t enough influence in the world to wreak what Cameron had built.

Not enough at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew so there it was. Poor David and fuck Campbell. I have been fascinated by the fucked up nature of David and Campbell's relationship and I wanted to write something for it . It somehow came out darker than I intended.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Remove Me From My Skin, Wash Me Of My Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461466) by [HailForTheQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailForTheQueen/pseuds/HailForTheQueen)




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